


AKA... Broken Arrow

by holdontoyourfinalbreath



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdontoyourfinalbreath/pseuds/holdontoyourfinalbreath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Which do you choose; the bullet or the fall?<br/>When you want out, there are no easy choices. There are no second chances and no room for others. When you are your own worst enemy, who do you destroy in the process of taking yourself down?<br/>On the run, and out of time; is your fate set in stone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA... Broken Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece that has be bugging me to be written for a while now. I understand that my grammar may not be the best, but I do hope you enjoy it.
> 
> This piece was written whilst listening to Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds.

Which do you choose; the bullet or the fall? The choice is a hard one to make, and the probability of surviving either is limited. It depends where the bullet hits. It depends how you fall. You know that time is slipping away as you weigh up your options.  
Click.  
The gun has been cocked. No more fucking around,she means it. Your arms rise up in front of you, pleading with the trigger. You take a step back, cautious, no sudden movement. Your eyes darting from the gun to her and back. That drop is starting to look more friendly.  
Bang!  
Pigeons on the building opposite fly in fear. The bullet narrowly misses your foot as she tuts with amusement. This is it. No more running; your heart pounds against your chest. No more words; her blood lips curl into the familiar smile. You close your eyes in preparation. Maybe it's time, you have been running for too long.  
You eyes snap open as the bullet impacts your chest. You are swept off your feet, watching the smoke ooze out of the barrel of the gun as you fall back. Everything seems to move in slow motion. The fall feels like a lifetime. The crack of your skull against the cold, concrete ground comes as a sweet relief. Your body is soaked in cooling blood, life seeping out quicker than the speed of the bullet. The silhouette of your killer emerges from the rooftop to see their masterpiece.  
The end.


End file.
